Seriously, I think if it weren't for the net, I'd never have started writing; it's that one person who writes and tells me that they like something that convinces me it's not utterly hopeless.
Not much planned yet for today. Need to finish cleaning up and packing, and then I may take the laptop to Barnes & Noble for the afternoon. Not sure. Waiting for the UPS guy; can't leave 'til he gets here, so hopefully he'll be here soon.
1:07. I'm a such an idjit. Here I am whining about nobody writing to me about my little story -- and, of course, I didn't even send the dang thing. (I got confused because I did send it to one of my RL critique groups, but they, are, of course, reserving comments until we meet on Sunday.) You may all feel free to chastise me (although it's as well that I did mention it here, 'cause that way I got mail saying "What story?", and otherwise I might have just suffered nobly in silence (I used to have a very bad tendency to do that sort of thing, which I hope I'm growing out of (too much King Arthur at an impressionable age))).
I feel much better now. I'm also sitting at Kevin's desk, with a perfectly gorgeous breeze blowing in the study window (I had to prop open two doors to ensure this breeze, but well worth the minor effort), with a story half-written and Indigo Girls playing (Nomads, Indians, Saints), which I haven't heard in a long time (one of the minor irritations of going to grad school in CA was no longer having access to all Kevin's CD's. Our tastes are mostly very different, but he did have some music that I liked very much...). Laundry in the dryer. Mostly packed. Happy (if still feeling a bit foolish).